Peter Pan Does Your Fandom
by Salome Sensei
Summary: Peter Pan plays in Neverland and invades various fandoms with characteristic and wicked glee. So far: Kuroshitsuji, Death Note, SamCham, Inuyasha, FMA, and Naruto. Two non-crossovers too. Adults only, please.
1. Straight On 'Til Morning: Kuroshitsuji

**Author's Introduction:** Welcome to "Peter Pan Does Your Fandom." Recently, I got fascinated by the idea of Peter Pan invading diverse fandoms and attempting to rescue/corrupt/snog characters he deemed as "lost boys." From lighthearded (forthcoming Inuyasha fic) to dark (Death Note's Mello plays rough) to naughty (Kuroshitsuji below), I've really had fun with these. Most are adult in nature, so 18+ only, please. More coming soon, and hope you enjoy them!

**Crossover: Peter Pan/Kuroshitsuji (Sebastian/Ciel)**

Straight On 'Til Morning

Peter Pan fumed, pacing back and forth on the window ledge of Ciel Phantomhive's bedchambers. No one had been able to place a ward to keep him from going where he wished, from entering children's rooms and summoning them to Neverland. And this one needed it more than all the Lost Boys put together! However, every time he tried to slip the window open, he felt a terrible shock, like when one rubs one's feet on carpet then touches something metal or another person's hand. A spark and a burning sensation that made clear he was unwelcome. He, Peter Pan, unwelcome! Imagine! He had never been so insulted or flustered in his long life. And he refused to call upon Tinkerbell for help. He'd never hear the end of it.

To and fro before the thick-paned window he stomped, his felt-booted feet failing to make the grouchy clomping sound he wished for. Oh, how Wendy would taunt him for this. "Dear queer Peter, unable to seduce another into the fold because of some silly little magical charm," she would say. "I daresay you are becoming old!" Then she'd giggle in that horrible girl way. Imagining that made him even more red in the face and he threw himself against the window so hard that the ward repulsed him quite entirely off the ledge. He tumbled in the air before he at last righted himself and hovered, summoning his strength to try again.

Suddenly, there was a voice behind him, clearing its throat. He wheeled around to see a strange, slender man with red eyes, looking more menacing than any Captain Hook and more beautiful—in his adult way—than even Snap Dragon, Tiger Lily's young cousin that Peter had secretly taken for his lover in recent months. "Are you the horrible grown-up that placed the charm that keeps me from taking that little boy"—he pointed to the window through which could be seen a quietly sleeping Ciel—"to Neverland?"

Sebastian put a hand to his chest and inclined his head. "I am he. Sebastian Michaelis, butler to Ciel Phantomhive, heir to the Phantomhive empire. My young master cannot, this or any day, go with you to 'Neverland,' little sprite."

Peter Pan screwed up his face and tossed his head. "I'm no sprite!" He puffed out his chest and poked a thumb at it. "I'm Peter Pan! And I shall defeat you, like all of my enemies, with the power of light and laughter and youth!"

Sebastian grinned a terrifying grin. So, the strange little wood nymph would need to be taught a lesson bodily. Very well. "Shall you indeed?" he said softly, holding very still in the air.

Peter Pan swallowed hard. This so-called butler had not raised a finger or made an actual threat. Not the kind Peter understood. Yet he recognized in that crimson-eyed visage and his few words the truth that this was no ordinary foe. Were he willing to admit such to himself, Peter would have further acknowledged that he perhaps looked into the very eyes of doom itself. Such, however, was not Peter's way. Peter always got what he wanted. Always. "But I, but he…" he stammered, then stopped. He pouted and stamped his foot in the air. "But he doesn't want to grow up and he called to me from his dreams! I must take him to Neverland, I must!"

Sebastian's menacing smile faded, replaced once more by the calm visage of the perfect butler. "Ah, I see." He bowed slightly. "You have erred in your interpretation, Master Pan. Ciel Phantomhive may well be dreaming, but his dreams belong to me." With care, he began to roll down one pristine, white glove. "You need have no fear that he will grow up. I assure you, I have far greater power to prevent that eventuality than all the magic in Neverland." He exposed the seal that bonded him to the Earl of Phantomhive.

Peter gaped and shivered. He could not say precisely what he was looking at, but whatever it was, it glowed with power and menace, reflecting in violet hue the glow in the terrible eyes of Sebastian Michaelis. He had no desire to look further upon it. He must admit defeat. He felt chastened, and he loathed it. Still, though, in his most secret heart of hearts, Peter had a certain tingly kind of respectful response to a grown-up with true power. Which almost no grown-ups had. Wendy did. And this butler did. With a sad nod, he acknowledged defeat and made ready to return to Neverland.

"Wait a moment, young Pan," called Sebastian, fitting his glove back on his perfectly manicured hand.

Peter turned, head cocked. Did he smell a change in the air?

"Upon reflection, I see no harm in your paying my young master a short visit, should you wish to do so." He appraised Pan's slender, nimble body, his pretty cherub's face. "Though he may not accompany you elsewhere, I believe I should enjoy watching the two of you, shall we say, at play?"

Peter's responding grin was far more that of demon than of child. "Well then, lead the way!" he chirruped.


	2. Neverland is a Warm Gun: Death Note

**Author's Note: Peter Pan/Death Note (Mello). **Written as a dark giftfic for FFnet's Pseudohanyou.

Neverland is a Warm Gun

Mello lay awake, staring blindly at the curtain as it stirred in the night breeze through his open window. He was not rising to close it any more than he was tossing and turning in his bed. He refused to do so, refused to give in to weakness, to yield to his emotions. L was dead. There it was. The one he'd aimed his future to emulate—no, not to emulate but to please—was dead. The few small expressions of affection he'd gotten from L as an early teen were all he would now ever get. Gifts of chocolate, a hasty ruffling of his hair, a casual word of praise for a test passed, an embrace that was far more Mello's desperate clinging than L's warmth: this comprised Mello's tiny, precious collection of evidence that he mattered to L. All told, a pitiful excuse for the tears that flowed down his face as he continued to fight the urge to writhe in his sheets, to pound his pillow, to slit his throat. Without thinking, he reached beside him for the gun he slept with. Cool to the touch, always; reassuringly familiar, fitted to his hand as if made for him. Another absurd thought, that. He stroked it then, slipped the end of the muzzle into his mouth like the cock he'd always wanted there but never tasted. He withdrew it after a moment and chuckled at his absurdity. Even as empty as a world without L seemed, he could not convince himself to end his life any more than that cold steel was anything like dick. He held the spit-tipped weapon aloft and watched the moonlight glint off the barrel.

From self-absorbed musing to deadly alertness, Mello sat up and aimed the gun at the small, glowing eyes of a boy who had somehow appeared on his windowsill. The impossibility of the situation—that it must be a dream—did not penetrate. Mello's instincts were too well-honed. This was no fantasy. A small, slender boy most certainly crouched inside his open window. "Another Lost Boy if ever I've seen one," the figure chirruped in a singsong voice, hopping inside, entirely ignoring the weapon trained on him.

Mello froze without knowing why. He should shoot this crazy asshole who could leap into second-story windows, dressed in some weird rustic little tunic thing and what appeared to be but absolutely shouldn't be felt boots, and who spoke like something out of a Dickens novel.

"A bit of fairy dust is all we'll need," said the boy with a lilt and a wide smile eerie enough to make Mello shudder.

"Who the fuck are you and where the hell did you come from?" he stammered, waving the gun with uncharacteristic incompetence.

The boy winked. "Second star to the right and straight on until morning." He held out a hand. "Come along now. You know you don't want to grow up, Mihael. Come to Neverland."

Mello's teeth chattered at the use of his name. This was insane. "Get the hell out of here," he stammered, hesitating despite having the gun loaded and firmly in his grip.

The boy stepped lightly over to sit on the edge of Mello's bed. "L thought you'd prefer this," he said, more softly, but still with a bright glimmer in his green eyes. "Why go on in this crazy world when you can come away and be happier than you've ever been, young and carefree forever?"

Mello blinked. And pulled the trigger.


	3. If Y'aint Got a Weapon: Samurai Champloo

Author's Note: Mugen is such a "Lost Boy," this just had to happen. After the trio go their ways, Pan spies his prey and pounces.

**Samurai Champloo: Mugen/Peter Pan Crossover.**

If Y'ain't Got a Weapon, I'll Be Happy to Beat Ya Senseless

Mugen hobbled along the sandy path to the east, hungover and ousted from yet another town for his drunken, violent behavior. Well, that was who he was. He didn't take shit from anyone, and as long as he could afford (or steal) a meal and enough sake to get to sleep, the rest would take care of itself. He touched an angry cut just below his right eye, not remembering how he got it or the scrapes across his knees. Certainly, there had been a fight. He vaguely recalled a bar fight, a blur of attackers he fought off with spins, kicks, sword, and fist. Perhaps a headbutt too many, though, unless the woozy nausea really was only about drink. He chuckled hoarsely to himself, enjoying the fact that at least feeling this lousy kept him from missing the little sunflower bitch…her flat chest…her childish kimono…her absurd optimism and painted nails…

Suddenly, this treacherous path of thought was interrupted by the blocking of his path by a strange man, a boy really—but more like some spirit of the forest—or perhaps just another effect of his colossal hangover. Mugen had no idea where the youth had come from, though he looked up into the trees to see if there were more of them about to spring. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the green-clad creature. "I got no patience for mystical shit or hallucinations right now, kid. Get outta my way…or die."

The boy smiled brightly, a seductive, impish gleam in his eye. He put a finger to his lip and cocked his head, apparently studying the tousled vagrant before him. The sword seemed not to concern him at all. "Such a strange fellow," he declared in oddly accented Japanese. "You have the size and stubble of a man but the mind of a boy. You'll make a strange but delightful Lost Boy." He tipped his head at another odd angle and pursed his lips. "Though Captain Hook will may wish to claim you for a pirate!"

Mugen blinked and furrowed his brow, dazed by the bizarre little monologue. Maybe this was neither magical being nor delusion but madman, escaped from some village asylum. Still, he looked easy enough to dispatch. He sheathed his sword and cracked his neck. "If y'ain't got a weapon, I'll be happy to beat ya senseless."

The drifter's opponent responded only with a coy giggle. "Catch me if you can!" And with that he lifted skyward, just out of Mugen's leaping reach.

Mugen was quick, but earthbound. "That's cheating!" he snarled, yielding to the fantasy, reality, or whatever the fuck was going on here.

The boy tittered from above, then reached into a leaf-like pocket of his skimpy grass-green tunic and sprinkled something shimmery down over Mugen's upturned, scowling face.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, Mugen growled as he felt the sparkling dust penetrate his skin. The sensation was strange and new. He felt suddenly light in his geta, and free of both headache and nausea. "The hell did you do to me?" he grumbled, refusing to be grateful despite the good feeling.

"It's fairy dust," said the boy in his high, clear voice, looking down with a delighted grin.

Mugen mumbled a "Huh?" and wondered at the words. Some translation issue from the foreigner's tongue?

"Just think lovely thoughts, and you can fly!"

Mugen scoffed. "I don't do lovely. Why don't I think about slicing off those little-boy genitals ya got dangling under that skimpy little haori of yours, weirdo."

A more worldly expression appeared on the elfin face above him, a harder edge to his gaze, a more wolfish grin. "Come and get me if you can," he mocked, and sailed off into the darkening sky.

Mugen threw up his arms in protest at the coward's retreat, and suddenly found himself aloft. He tumbled in the air, then righted himself as the creature stayed just out of reach. "Where'd'ya think yer goin'?" Mugen cried. "Get back here, ya freak!"

"We're off to Neverland," laughed Peter Pan.


	4. Come Away: Inuyasha

Author's Note: Originally written for the LJ Community **InuComedyClub **for their "Dirty Laundry" prompt, with 350 word limit.

**Peter Pan/Inuyasha Crossover: Pan/Jaken.**

Come Away

Jaken sat at the river's edge, sighing as he held up the wet mass of Sesshoumaru's blood-spattered hakama. He had been scrubbing for what seemed like hours and the worst of the stains would just not come clean. His eyes welled as he flung the garment into the water. How did he end up becoming laundry boy, anyway? He was a warrior…or at least the devoted vassal of a warrior. Why didn't Sesshoumaru use the worthless girlchild for such demeaning duties? There she sat, singing little nonsense songs by the campfire and eating fish he had caught, while he slaved on. He would follow his Lord to the ends of the earth, but this was simply unfair! Was there no hope for escape from such drudgery?

Looking to the starry skies in dismay, he gasped in slack-jawed surprise as a mortal boy hurtled from the heavens, a glowing trail behind him. He wore a strange short green robe and a feather in an odd little cap. "O ho!" he cried, landing nimbly beside Jaken. "It is I, Peter Pan, come to take you, poor forsaken boy, off to Neverland! Come away!" he chirruped, holding out a pale hand. "Just a little pixie dust and together we'll go to the island of the Lost Boys where everyone stays young and plays all day!"

Jaken scratched his head, unable to understand the strange boy's alien speech. In a flash, the creature's true plan was exposed as he tossed some magical sparkling substance over Jaken's head. The little youkai deftly dodged the luminous spray and grasped his Staff of Heads. He commanded forth fire and watched his enemy screech with fright then rise into the sky, flying away as fast as his burning behind would take him.

With great pride, Jaken ran to tell his Lord of his conquest. How lucky it was after all that he was at the riverbed! Surely this was Sesshoumaru's plan all along, to make Jaken the first line of defense! And a true warrior he had proved himself, singlehandedly repelling the terrible sparkling creature known as "Pi-ta-pan"!


	5. Strangers on a Train to Neverland: FMA

Author's Note: Edward Elric was destined to meet Peter Pan sooner or later. And I like very much how this turned out in tone.

Strangers on a Train to Neverland

If the grinning creature that had suddenly appeared before him was a homunculus, it was the oddest homunculus yet. Not wearing clinging black garments nor displaying alchemical symbol nor suddenly shifting into composite monster, opening giant maw, or shooting forth dagger fingers. Not attacking him. Not even laughing maniacally.

Instead, the green-clad youth simply sat, legs folded, chin in hand, grinning like a madman, directly at Ed. Waking from a nap on his train journey to find the sky dark and _that_ staring at him was more than a little jarring, and the tension only increased as he noted that Al was nowhere in sight.

Then he remembered. No Al on this side of the divide. No Lust or Envy or alchemy. He still had a quest, though, and it involved reunion, not a weird stranger who popped up in the seat opposite him in a dimly lit empty train car while he slept.

"The name's Peter Pan," the strange boy said, interrupting his thoughts, poking a thumb at his chest proudly. The feather in his little angled cap quivered in the night breeze coming through the open train window. And was it sleepy eyes or were his buttons actually made from acorns?

Ed blinked. "Edward Elric," he answered automatically.

"I know," replied Pan. "I've been watching you, Lost Boy."

"What did you call me?" Ed fumed, bringing up his fists to defend himself against this name-caller. He didn't understand what the reference meant, but he knew he didn't like it. True, he might be kind of lost, and he was a boy. But whatever a "Lost Boy" was, he wasn't one.

A light peal of laughter poured from the creature's wide, smiling mouth and he slapped his knees in mirth.

Ed was reminded for the merest moment of himself and Al, lying in the sun, taking turns at drawing caricatures of everyone they knew and attempting to guess whose distorted, silly face was whose. They laughed and rolled in the grass and slapped their legs and the ground and each other in secret, shared hilarity. "Quit that!" Ed snapped.

Pan reduced his mirth to a titter then to silence. He shrugged and uncrossed his legs, let them swing a little, even though his feet could, if he tried, rest on the floor. He leaned out the window and enjoyed the wind in his pointed ears.

Ed seethed. He wanted this Peter Pan gone, and yet he couldn't deny his curiosity. Who was he? Why did he dress like that? What was a Lost Boy? And, most importantly, why did he give off an aura of magic that was too like alchemy for comfort in this "scientific" world on the other side of the portal? Through gritted teeth, he muttered, "What're you doing here?"

Pan turned back to Ed, his eyes dancing and sparkling, reflected in the moonlight. "Like I said, I've been watching you. I keep on the lookout for Lost Boys and bring them to Neverland, a wondrous place where you'll play all day and never grow old!" He never grew tired of explaining the delights of Neverland, the most wonderful place in the world.

"But…but it's not like that here," stuttered Ed.

Pan frowned as if the boy were an idiot. "I'm not from _here_, foolish Edward. Neverland's not _here_." He pointed out the window. "There. Second star to the right, and straight on until morning!" He enjoyed saying that bit, too.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ed spat, growing red in the face. How much insanity was one out-of-work alchemist supposed to live through? Homunculi, chimera, people coming back from the dead, finding and losing and finding and losing… And now this? In the middle of a world without alchemy, he meets some weird forest freak who lives in outer space?

Pan gave a condescending nod. "I know. It's all rather confusing for you. You've been through a lot. But that's why I'm here, don't you see?" He reached into a little patch pocket then put his free hand up to ease Ed's knee-jerk reaction to seeming danger. "It's just pixie dust, see?" He held out the translucent, twinkling crystals. "All I do is sprinkle a little on you, you think lovely thoughts, and then we fly—to Neverland!"

Ok. The guy was nuts. Ed had no question in his mind now. A lunatic escaped from an asylum somewhere who had boarded the train when he was asleep and now had found an audience. Ed gave a small smile and replied with a soothing, "Ahh, I see. How fascinating. And how…nice that you thought of inviting me."

Pan laughed again, this time less freely, less innocently. Suddenly, he stilled his voice, palm still extended, and leaned in to Ed across the seat, pointed felt boots firmly planted before him. "We can bring your Lost Boy brother, too," he said softly. "I bet Alphonse would love Neverland."

Ed's eyes widened. His throat tightened. He couldn't speak. He nodded once, swiftly, and closed his eyes. Let it happen now, before he could think through all the implications, all the potential complications of equivalent exchange.


	6. Ramen Encounter: Naruto: Shippuden

Author's Note: What happens when Naruto and Peter Pan share ramen? Just a little taste!

Ramen Encounter

The pointy-eared creature sat beside Naruto, toying with chopsticks as if he'd never used them before. His ramen steamed before him, making Naruto's mouth water. Green eyes turned his way, accompanied by a mischievous grin. "_Hello, Lost Boy_," he said in a foreign tongue.

Naruto pointed a thumb. "What's this guy saying?" he asked the cook.

"Ya got me," came the answer, as his bowl was plunked down before him.

"Thanks!" cheered Naruto. "Been too long, friend." He grabbed his chopsticks and dug in.

"_Ah, so that's how you do it_," chattered the boy Naruto had almost forgotten in his ramen greed. The stranger took a sloppy bite, then smacked his lips. "iNot bad./i"

"Huh? Speak Japanese," mumbled Naruto, mouth full of noodles. He wished the little weirdo would just shut up and eat.

The boy shrugged and smiled, dimples now showing. "We don't have ramen in Neverland," he said, in perfect Japanese. "Do you know how to make it?"

"Not like they make it here," Naruto said, then slurped down another hank of ramen.

The green-eyed lad looked disappointed. "Oh. Well, can you fight pirates?"

"Pirates?"

"Thieves and scoundrels with swords and hooks! Aren't those dueling scars?" He pointed to the stripes on Naruto's cheeks.

Naruto glared. What the heck was the dude talking about? "I'm a ninja, you freak!"

"I can work with that." Peter Pan stood on his stool, hands on hips. "Come away to Neverland, Lost Boy Ninja, to play and fight all day, no teachers or lessons, and never grow old!"

Naruto snorted. "You shoulda found me a few seasons ago. I was an annoying twerp like you. Now I get action. This is Shippuden!"


	7. A Bit Closer to Forever: Pan alone

Author's Note: An adults-only tidbit written for pleasure and LJ comm **hentai-contest**'s "In the Rain" prompt. This one lets Peter Pan play all on his own. Hope you don't mind the lack of crossover, just this once.

**A Bit Closer to Forever**

I'm a boy. I call myself a boy, anyhow. A boy—forever. It's good like that.

I feel like a boy, like I always have. And I like being a boy, looking like one. My skin's smooth and brown. My hair's messy and sunstreaked. My legs are lean and fast. I'm limber and maybe graceful, even. Tink says the flying helps. And once, Tiger Lily said there's the green of spring in my laugh and the stars' wink in my eyes. I like it all.

Being me isn't a conscious decision anymore, maybe never was. I'll stay a boy as long as I live…and nobody knows how long I'll live. That makes my smile as big as the sun, it does. Almost as much as finding more Lost Boys to fill Neverland with. Not too many in the world who don't want to be boys forever.

But today is for me. For me and my smile. There's no sun today; still, that's all right, too. There's things best done in the shade or the rain. And all by myself. Right now there's a downpour, and it's as good as always to be me.

I hum to myself as I sit on the wet hillside, my tunic dark and damp and my hair dripping into my lap. I peek up and can't make out much. The shower's like a blanket. But I know everyone's all right. Boys underground, Indians in their lair, Hook and his fools battening down the hatches or whatever it is they do. Me? I'm the only one of me there is. I'm humming, sweetling of a cock hard in my warm, damp grip. I'm stroking it slow and steady, just like I like it. Fits so neat in my hand, a boy's best friend. This boy's best friend.

Here comes Pan, I hum to the black sky, and bring myself a bit closer to forever.


	8. New Game: Pan and his prey

New Game

Author's Note: Not a crossover. Pan visits the seedy underside of London, tracking clever prey in a new game. Adults only! Originally written for LJ's Hentai-contest.

His prey was nowhere in sight, and Neverland was never further away. Pan brushed the grime of the London alleyway from his bare foot, but that only made his hand filthy. He huffed and continued on his way. He had only to wait a little longer, he knew. The imp wasn't one to give up, not when there was pleasure at stake.

In the green glow of the gas lamps, he bucked himself up with familiar reminders. Every lost battle was a precursor to a win. The pirates would plot; the Lost Boys would counterplot. The Indians would scheme; the Lost Boys would counterscheme. A basket of apples stolen only meant a basket of apples owed. A threat to uncover their lair was merely a reason to create a new, better hiding place. The sharpest provocation led to the sharpest attack. And new games were the best games.

His prey had reconfigured the game, and where he should have demanded to control the rules, he could not. Novelty was his downfall. Dreary Londontown, waiting and watching, bargaining and feigning: it was a new flavor mixed into to his long and tasty life, and he had quickly become addicted. Even as he missed the bright, cloud-dotted skies of Neverland, he savored the way she lured him. She was his secret equal, his certain opposite. In her youthful creativity, she drew him as no other could. Though he would never admit it openly.

"Lookin' for a bit o' fun, lad?" came a voice.

Pan whirled, hating that he could be surprised, his heart racing in this terrible, dark place.

A girl stood before him, hip cocked and a gleam in her eye. Her hair was tousled and her garb was bawdy and mud-stained, red with wilting black lace low across a flat chest. But her grin was knowing, enticing.

"How much?" asked Pan, happy to find a way to pass the time.

The wench eyed him, looking over his small frame and clearly contemplating the likely coinage he might have. A shrewd little dollymop she was. After long, thoughtful moments, she replied: "Three acorns. No less."

Pan pursed his lips. "Are you worth that much?" he asked, a grin spreading. He patted his tunic where already his little hardness was already making a bulge. "And will you satisfy?"

"Try me, boy," answered Tiger Lily, her voice every inch a Judy's as she sank to her knees on the cobblestones before him.

Pan's eyes rolled back as he leaned against the filthy brick, hand in Tiger Lily's hair. Oh, but the Indian knew how to win a game.

-end-

Note: "Judy" and "dollymop" are Victorian nicknames for prostitutes, the latter particularly for amateur street girls.


End file.
